'I don't know,' snapped Slivers, viciously; 'how the devil should
I?'
'Don't swear at me, you wooden-legged little monster,' cried the
virago, with another bang of the umbrella, which raised such a cloud
of dust that it nearly made Slivers sneeze his head off. 'He ain't
been home all night, and you've been leading him into bad habits,
you cork-armed libertine.'
'Hasn't been home all night, eh?' said Slivers, sitting up quickly,
while Billy, who had been considerably alarmed at the gaunt female,
retired to the fireplace, and tried to conceal himself up the
chimney. 'May I ask who you are?'
'You may,' said the angry lady, folding her arms and holding the
umbrella in such an awkward manner that she nearly poked Slivers'
remaining eye out.
'Well, who are you?' snapped Slivers, crossly, after waiting a
reasonable time for an answer and getting none.
'I'm his landlady,' retorted the other, with a defiant snort.
'Matilda Cheedle is my name, and I don't care who knows it.'
'It's not a pretty name,' snarled Slivers, prodding the ground with
his wooden leg, as he always did when angry. 'Neither are you. What
do you mean by banging into my office like an insane giraffe?'--this
in allusion to Mrs Cheedle's height.
'Oh, go on! go on!' said that lady defiantly; 'I've heard it all
before; I'm used to it; but here I sit until you tell me where my
lodger is;' and suiting the action to the word, Mrs Cheedle sat down
in a chair with such a bang that Billy gave a screech of alarm and
said, 'Pickles!'
'Pickles, you little bag of bones!' cried Mrs Cheedle, who thought
that the word had proceeded from Slivers, 'don't you call me
"Pickles"--but I'm used to it.
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